


RvB Drabbles

by tigereyes45



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drabble Collection, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, tags will change as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21914002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: From Grimmons angst to (eventually) the fluffiest of Caboose fluff I will be posting short rvb drabbles here.I count any story under 500 words as a drabble. They will also be cross posted on my tumblr and possibly my ff account which share the same username.
Relationships: Dexter Grif & Sarge, Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons, Freckles & Michael J. Caboose, Sarge & Dick Simmons
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21





	1. I Quit - Silence

He could hear Sarge barking orders again. His voice had lost its edge as he goes on to explain what desertion is. As if it wasn’t obvious. Grif knows that they all think he’s the dumb one. Hell, the only one who ever admitted to thinking otherwise is the same dead asshole they’re leaving to go find. How much more obvious could he make it that he’s done. Why was Sarge even asking him to come back? He hated him the most. Every single day that man had a new complaint which was usually just a variation of his classic hits. God, he’s just like an old record that never stops, and yet he does. As Sarge’s screaming stops Grif’s fists begin to shake. He throws his gun against the rocks. Why was it only Sarge who wanted him to come back? He hated them, but why was it only him? Why didn’t anyone else say anything? No double-entendre from Donut. Not even a fucking squeak from Simmons. After all those years and nothing? No questions, anger, fucking anything? He wasn’t worth even a single step.

Grif picks the gun back up just in time to see them fly off. Fuck them. He may have quit but they never wanted him around, to begin with. Not even Simmons.


	2. Fuckin' Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarge cleans his gun in the eerie silence of Temple's base after Simmons and Lopez's betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicidal thoughts

Sarge sits quietly on an empty box as the orange hallway light drifts lazily overhead. If he looked up all he would see was the water outside. Maybe an alien whale that was split up all in weird ways. Just like his team was. So instead of looking out the window, he stares down. Keeping his eyes and visor locked on the shotgun he was currently cleaning.

The safety was on. Even so, he knows he shouldn't be pointing the end right at himself anyways. He hadn't properly taken it apart. The first thing every soldier learns is how to properly take their gun apart and clean it. Sarge, however, was just rubbing it over and over again with his cloth. Spit, and elbow grease was all he needed. Just like always.

For a moment he can see the bronze bullet inside. The glimpse of orange leaves him frozen. Eyes locked down his barrel until it registers. Grif couldn't be in his gun. Sam Hill the man couldn't even be here. They left him behind. Sarge rubs at the same smudge on the top of the gun he had been working at for a while. Furiously he scrapes and scratches. The dark purplish-black mark doesn't clear up.

Grif wasn't even here. He couldn't be, but maybe if he was then Simmons would’ve listened. Those two dunderheads were easier to rally when together. Somehow Simmons was a better soldier with Grif around. He pays closer attention to orders, was easier to urge into a fight, argues more but always passive-aggressively. When orange was around, maroon was more compliant. That was just logic. Just like how a soldier without an enemy was a man without a mission.

A soldier like Sarge.

Bitterly he glares at the mark. Then at the bullet that had tricked him. For once the exhaustion felt overwhelming. His own commanding officer had never lasted this long. In fact, that man had died right in front of Sarge’s own eyes. Went down like a hero in the middle of battle. It was how he wanted to go. How Surge wants to go. Why that man hadn’t shot him down when he said all that about an orange soldier was a mystery to Sarge. Probably just cause they need the manpower. Afterall Simmons and Lopez were turncoats now. Grif was gone. Tucker and Caboose are blues who don’t listen. It was just him now.

Himself and this fucking stain.

There was nothing but blue outside. Orange hangs above him as if to brag about how much holier than thou it was. Then this fucking purple-black stain that just won’t go away, unlike the soldiers who colors it won’t stop reminding him of. Then there was that damn bullet. Bronze and cold, and not yet used. It was mocking him too, because here he was cleaning again. Avoiding sleep again. Losing his goddamn mind. Here he was still alive.

Most nights he really wishes he wasn’t.


	3. The Final Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freckles tries his best to make Caboose comfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't that great but I wanted to get it out.

He doesn't remember how long he's been in this white room with pictures covering the walls closest to him. He doesn't even recognize the faces in them. Most of them. Freckles stands out in striking detail within his mind. The AI pet having been switched from one body to the next. He can still remember carrying him in his gun. It was so cool when he scared Felix. Then he was a chip again and a robot, before Wash, made him a gun again. His hands reach out trying to find his loyal weapon. The soft fabric barely moves against his struggling fingers. He doesn’t know how he got so weak, or where anyone was.

There are other small bits of information that cling to him. A vibrant shade of red under an old man's face that makes him think of Sarge. When his door opens the click doesn't even reach his ears. The creaking had been regulated to background noise a long long time ago. It's the shadow that’s cast on a man in full light blue armor in the closest photo that grabs his attention. Caboose looks to see a robot wearing a long apron holding a cup for him.

"Water."

"Thank you. Um, who are you?" Caboose drinks the water slowly as he holds the cup carefully in two hands.

"Freckles, Captain Caboose."

"Oh right. Uh, where am I?"

The robot looks down at his chest. He opens it up to reveal a screen without an answer. The look on his limitedly expressive face says he's been asked that many times before. Caboose wonders if he has forgotten something again. He can't remember what it could possibly be though. Maybe Church would know. Church always knew when Caboose forgot something. Just like the time, he forgot to tie his shoe, or he used too much soap, or when he forgot to return Tucker’s armor and he got shot in the leg while chasing after him.

"What the Hell are you doing Caboose?"

The retired captain smiles as he looks at the screen. Church was there in full armor regalia, angry but near. He knew he would visit. There wasn’t a day that had gone by in year where Church hadn’t. His visits were short but he tries to stay as long as he could. 

"I'm only gonna explain this once so listen up. This is Tucker, Grif, Sarge, Wash," and on Church went introducing their friends as if they weren't actually there. He could see Grif sleeping, noticed the way Sarge stood tensely between the agents. Washing had one hand resting on Tucker’s shoulder as the other holds Carolina’s hand.

"I know Church. I know. Are you hungry? I'm hungry."

He chats endlessly with the screen as Freckles goes about checking his vitals. He was thankful or as thankful as he could be that the screen was enough. That the audio he had scrounged up from past records was convincing enough for the senile old man. His heart was still slowing and his body temperature was dropping with it. Freckles makes a mental mark of it but doesn’t bring it up to Caboose. Soon his captain will be dead, off to join the others in their eternity. He wonders if the captain was ready to greet the dark. He could barely accept what was going on day to day, never really registering anything but the recording Freckles had created.

"I'm tired Church."

"I know Caboose."

"Can we, can we take a nap?"

"Of course." Freckles sits next to Caboose on his bed. He makes sure to turn his heating feature on in one last effort to keep the Captain warm. The screen stays on with all the reds and blues waving. As Caboose slowly goes beyond saving Freckles decides on what the last words he hears will be.

"You did good Caboose. You did good."

With all of them saying it at once. It was the last thing he could do for his dear Captain Caboose. 


End file.
